


Everybody's gotta live (and everybody's gonna die)

by JohnMyBeloved



Category: Tenet (2020)
Genre: A declaration of love to John David Washington and Robert Pattinson, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Denial of Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Pining, Red String of Fate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26275078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMyBeloved/pseuds/JohnMyBeloved
Summary: Years have passed since that day in Russia, yet the thought of Neil is always on the Protagonist's mind.Until one day in London, and suddenly everything falls into place.AkaThe protagonist and Neil meet for the 'first' time.
Relationships: Neil/The Protagonist (Tenet)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 341





	Everybody's gotta live (and everybody's gonna die)

**Author's Note:**

> (Fic title taken from 'Everybody's gotta live' by Love.)
> 
> This is purely self indulgent.   
> And yes I gave the Protagonist a name: James. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

_“For me, I think it’s the end of a beautiful friendship.”_

_“But for me, it’s just the beginning?”_

_“We get up to some stuff. You’re going to love it.”_

He jolted out from his dream with a harsh shudder, the lingering feeling of sand rubbing his skin and the stench of explosives in his nostrils. As he sat up, glancing at his bedside table to see the angry red digits of his clock, the tendons of his shoulders cracked and loosened from the thick tension built by his nightmare.

Was it a nightmare, or a dream? Could it be either if it was a memory? The horror of letting go, sending Neil to his death knowingly against the hopeful promise of a future in which they were to be together again. Did the horror outweigh the hope? Surely that was the only way to know which classification fit.

It had been five years since the events at Stalask-12, although it had felt like treble that number with all the inverting he had been doing since. Jumping back to prevent assassinations, stop nuclear explosions and hide parts of the algorithm had worn him out.

He supposed he was no longer entitled to contracted holidays in this new line of work. Not that he had many whilst working for the CIA, but with the constantly looming threat of apocalypse sent by future generations, he didn't really have any grounds to complain.

He calmed his breathing and lay back down, concentrating on the humming city sounds of Beijing to drown out the remnant echoes of bomb blasts and gunshots. To forget the last wheeze of breath from Neil's lips as the bullets tore through his armour and into his chest. A car beeped its horn twenty floors below. The world always moving forward no matter what.

No matter how hard he prayed for it to pause.

-

He left the meeting with Ives slightly relieved, having laid the first building blocks of the Tenet project. They had mapped out most of the turnstile locations across the world, marking their defences and accessibility for future use. He had been surprised at first to learn of all these doorways to the past. Oslo airport was only the start.

The sick feeling in this stomach that followed Inverting had started to die down after a year or so of entering the Project, but he could still feel the tiredness in his limbs; the ache in his chest. Ducking down streets away from their current hideaway in London, his stomach rumbled reminding him that their meeting had ran over by a couple of hours. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking off any lingering feelings of disorientation, and set off towards the high street, using the chatter of the public as his Satnav.

He found himself walking into a large Georgian-era building in South Kensington, with the promise of food and beverages etched on a chalkboard on the pavement outside. Inside, the main room consisted of grand arches painted with gold leaf detailing whilst a hand painted mural spanned the ceiling, inferring that of the Sistine Chapel. He perched himself on a stool by the long, oak bar which ran around a large glass shelving unit holding an array of bottles; gin, vodka, champagne, rum, whisky, wine.

Whilst waiting for his order of a plain Diet Coke and an all too expensive club sandwich, his mind wandered; as did his eyes, glancing around the room and watching the mundane lives of those around him. The mother and her child surrounded by shopping bags; the Nigerian tourists taking a break during a whirlwind walking tour; the grey-haired lords conducting under-the-table business in the corner; the educated chattering of university students.

The waiter brought over his sandwich just as the barman slid over his drink, only he had brought a tall glass of champagne too.   
"Oh, I didn't order this. Just the Coke," he said confused.

The barman smiled and tilted his head over towards the door, "A gentleman sent it with the message that you looked like you needed something to brighten your day."

He twisted his head to where the barman was referring to, but the foyer and the area around the door was completely empty.

Apart from the shock of familiar blond hair walking out onto the street.

-

He had somewhat selfishly passed on a mission in Nairobi, sending some of the newly passed recruits in his stead to help secure a container of biohazard waste in transport; deciding instead to linger in London for a week longer than scheduled. He had told Ives it was to scope out any more possible leads on a growing weapons black market, but the look in the Brit's eye told him that he knew the real reason.

Spending the days walking around South Kensington and neighbouring Chelsea and Westminster, he yearned for another glimpse of that blond hair. The blond hair and sharp jaw, blue eyes and pale skin which crept into his dreams. The slightly off centred tie, the lean physique, the pink lips ready to be pulled back into a smirk.

He found Neil in a bar in Soho. Or rather, Neil found him.

After a day of half-heartedly following leads, one eye always on the lookout, he allowed himself a night off and had been able to stumble upon a club named _Desyat'._ Night had fallen over the capital, and with it a new population had been awoken, teeming out from between office buildings and multimillion pound mansions were 21st century yuppies, scheming businessmen, students and night owls of the city, making their way towards the darker and neon-lit parts of the city. He rolled the cuffs of his white tailored shirt up to his elbows as he walked through the entrance and descended into the main lounge.

Desyat’ was alive and pulsating with music, the bass and high notes of the electronic synth reverberating in his bones as he made his way towards the bar, skirting around overly handsy dancers and the drunken spilling of alcohol. He was there for some time just listening to the music and trying to drown himself in the atmosphere, throwing out all thoughts of possible annihilation, Inverting and the pressure placed on his shoulders, and allowing himself to sink into the feeling of being a Civilian. Tonight, he would allow himself to be someone other than the protagonist of the world’s survival plan; tonight, he could just be himself.

That was until he spotted a mop of blond from across the bar in the mirror behind the bartender. A familiar figure disinterested in the chatter of a leering man with wandering hands, backing him further towards the metal countertop and almost knocking over his glass placed there. He turned away from the leering man, eyes darting until they settled on his across the bar with a sudden shine.

Neil smiled and slid away from the creep, muttering an excuse as quickly as possible and slipping through the crowd until he got to him. Watching the elegance with which his (future? Past?) friend moved, mesmerised him until Neil had finally made it. Still unable to react to the shock of it actually being him, he was only able to move when Neil leaned in, that familiar smell of cologne flooding his nose, and whispered into his ear, “Please pretend that you know me so this guy will leave me alone.”

He nodded straight away and pulled him into a tight embrace, watching the stranger over Neil’s shoulder catch them and march away to the dancefloor furious. He held him for a second longer and a little tighter than necessary, trying to contain the relief and sheer happiness which flooded his body whilst ignoring the hammering of his heart against his chest at the sensation of Neil’s hands resting between his shoulder blades, half a head taller.

Breaking the hug was the hardest thing he had ever at to do. When he had stepped back and leant against the bar, Neil smiled in thanks- a fresh, innocent smile which he had never had the chance to see before.

“Thanks, I owe you. I’m Neil.”

_I know._

“It’s no problem, just happy to help. I’m James.”

His own name felt refreshing to say after so long of using fake identities and aliases all in the name of secrecy. Somehow, Neil’s smile grew wider.

“Can I buy you a drink, James? To show my gratitude.”

That warm, educated tone wrapped him up him in a feeling he thought he would never feel again. No not since that day in Russia, not since that day when Neil died.

But Neil wasn’t dead. He was in front of him in all his dishevelled yet articulate glory; years away from dying, with a lopsided smile and warm blue eyes, with a head free of the complexities of inter-time travel and heart unburdened by the chaos and stress such knowledge brought. How could he bring this man into Tenet knowing what lay ahead- or behind even? What justification could he provide for being the cause of this young man’s demise, being the reason that Neil would throw himself in front of a round of bullets and be buried under the weight of a forgotten city? Was it that in order for the world as they know it to survive, Neil must die; or that Tenet could only be founded if Neil was sent back to the Opera House raid and to convince him to join his own scheme?

Or maybe it was selfish reasons that caused James to agree to leave the club with Neil to find the perfect setting for that other drink? That warm feeling in his chest which he had stifled and kept hidden from everybody and himself for too long, was the reason.

-

They had ended the night in his hotel suite at the Ritz in Mayfair, smoking cigarettes on the balcony and nursing glasses of scotch. At first the younger man’s face had been wide with wonder at the sheer opulence of the suite, a sight James wished he could photograph and have plastered to every billboard in London. With a chandelier overhead and lush items of antique and bespoke furniture, he had himself felt shocked by the sheer expense their MI5 benefactor must have paid for such a stay, especially considering his extended residence.

And so, they sat on the balcony, chatting like they were not in fact strangers and instead long-lost friends kept apart by life’s events. In reality, both were true.

“So, Neil, what is it that you do?” he asked despite already knowing the answer.

“Well, I’ve just finished my master’s at Imperial College in physics. But I’m not sure what I’ll do next, maybe go back and get a PHD and become a professor; or go into the civil service? I’m at a loss to be honest.”

This was something he hadn’t known; Neil had never told him about what he almost did. It made the choice so much harder; it made the inevitable so much worse. If he kicked Neil out now, left for that mission in Nairobi and never returned; he would save Neil and allow him to live out his days as a kindly physics professor; settle into a normal life and die from old age surrounded by the family he had had time to create- as opposed to in a hole in Russia. Guilt ebbed at him, seeped into his veins and grew stronger with every heartbeat, with every smile that the other man threw his way. He distracted himself by smoothing the non-existent creases out of his suit trousers.

“What about you?” Neil asked.

It was time to choose, to choose the future and the past. But before he allowed the inevitable to happen, before he dragged him into Tenet, he would allow himself this night. This one night to pretend that they were normal, that he lived in a linear timeline where he was simply a man.

“I work for the secret service,” he answered.

Neil gave him a lopsided grin, stubbing his cigarette out into the ashtray. He leant forward on the small table between them, eyes bright as he tried to contain a chuckle.

“Isn’t rule one of the secret service not to tell people you’re in the secret service?”

“It’s not fight club,” he responded soaking in the loud and tipsy laughter.

“But surely if you’re a spy, you shouldn’t be telling me,” Neil’s laughter quietened when he spoke.

“I have a feeling I can trust you,” he spoke with a surprising candour against his own wishes, “You didn’t spike the champagne you bought for me in Kensington, that’s a start.”

This obviously caught Neil unprepared, his face reddened in the soft light from the suite. He looked down bashfully and shook his head, looking up only to catch James’ eyes. Blue oceans of emotion that he had had the pleasure of seeing before, but never the courage to fully take in; too awkward and embarrassed with the yearning in his chest to show Neil what he truly felt, and only breaking down that wall once he had died.

Neil’s voice was a shy whisper, “I didn’t think you’d seen me. But it’s a real coincidence that I saw you tonight, I promise I wasn’t stalking you or anything.”

It was his turn to laugh, if anything it was Neil being sought out by him. “Maybe it was fate?”

“What? That we were meant to meet tonight?”

“Is there no room in your physicist brain for fate?” He teased. What else could it be? It had been a thought rattling around his brain for some time, the idea that he and Neil were bound by something more than chance. Chosen by something neither of them could control to lead the other to Tenet. One could not exist without the other, time bound their futures and pasts in a never-ending loop. He was always meant to find Neil. And Neil was always meant to find him.

“I can believe in fate, sure. It is only logical to accept that anything is possible. In an alternate universe, I am you and you are me; I study English and you are unemployed; I am the antagonist and you are the protagonist. I’m sure there is an alternate universe where alternate universes don’t exist.”

Old him would have never understood Neil’s point, but he felt like he had finally reached the point where he understood. Where he understood possibly more than Neil did in this moment.

“And what are we in this universe?”

Neil smiled, standing up from his chair and looking out from the balcony into the glittering metropolis. The lives of almost nine million people intertwining below his gaze. “That is for you to decide.”

-

They were in Sao Paolo when he finally gave in to the feeling in his chest, when he finally let himself go. They had just completed another mission, barely making it back through the turnstile alive after pulling off a heist in the secure vault of a drug trafficker. Somewhere during the escape, Neil’s oxygen canister had been shot and they had had to share the mask between them until they passed back into the present, their lungs aching from the inverted air.

They collapsed on the floor with a wordless sigh of relief. Once his heart finally steadied, he let out a whoop of victory only to be silenced when he heard a punctured gasp of pain. He sat up, looking to where Neil had fallen against some crates, clutching at his side and the tear in his tactical gear, blood trickling out. Without a word, he threw himself at Neil, tearing open the first aid pack he carried in his backpack and applying pressure to the wound despite the hiss coming from his friend’s mouth.

“What happened?” He panted.

Neil looked dazed, eyes flickering around the dark, abandoned shipping crate until they caught his face. “Shrapnel from that car exploding,” he stuttered.

Swearing under his breath, he applied more pressure on Neil’s stomach, “We need to get you to the med bay, can you stand up?” It couldn’t be far, the other members he had recruited had set up shop nearby somewhere in the docks. If they could just get outside, he could call for help without having to leave him.

There was something worrying in Neil’s eyes, their blueness became watery, spaced out and far away. With his free hand he cupped the blonde’s chin, pulling his attention back to the present. “Stay with me, we need to get you out. If you can’t move, I’ll have to run out and get someone.” When he didn’t receive a response, only a dazed shake of the head, he pulled back. Putting Neil’s hand on his wound, he removed his hands and leant back.

“Don’t leave me.” A request, a plea, a murmur, a command.

Looking at the startled look on his friend’s pallid features, the magnet inside him brought him back without any of the self-control he had prescribed himself. Taking Neil’s face in his hands, he leant forward and placed a soft, overdue kiss on the pink lips he had fought against for years.

A decade had passed since he had first met Neil in India, still years away in the timeline of the blonde’s life. A decade of hurt, loss and regret. A decade of longing, familiarity and love.

He kissed Neil with all the strength he could muster, explaining his every thought, every feeling with it. Drowning and floating at the same time, pulled beneath the rip tide and splashing in the shallows, floating at the edge of the atmosphere whilst tied to earth. Against his will, he let out a sob when Neil’s lips moved back with a perfect tenderness, a wildfire and a soft embrace. Despite the circumstances, this is how they were meant to be; a pair, their fates intertwined forever in a loop neither of them could break. Bound by the red string of fate. A perfect circle.

Pulling back only slightly, he bumped their noses together; memorising the feeling of Neil’s fingertips against his dark beard, the softness of the other man’s freshly shaved cheeks, the taste of mint on his breath.

Before running outside to call in the med team, he kissed Neil’s forehead lovingly with a quick press of his lips to the space between his eyebrows.

“I will never leave you,” he promised, “We are meant to be.”


End file.
